


Too Young to Know, too Old to Admit

by lumiereandcogsworth



Series: cherry blossoms (young Adam) [2]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, Heavy Drinking, Pre-Curse, Prequal, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage Adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumiereandcogsworth/pseuds/lumiereandcogsworth
Summary: “It’s been ten years,” Adam croaked in a gruff voice, as though he hadn’t spoken all day. Lumiere knew what he was referring to immediately, and it suddenly became all too clear why Adam had decided to drink alone in his childhood chambers.“Oh, yes. It has been,” the footman replied regrettably. It had been ten years since Adam’s mother had died. Ten years ago, that very day, a young prince was facing for the first time the worst punishment the world could have bestowed upon him: being alive without his mother.
Relationships: Adam & Lumiere (Disney)
Series: cherry blossoms (young Adam) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840999
Kudos: 9





	Too Young to Know, too Old to Admit

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "My Eyes" by the Lumineers
> 
> Please note the warnings in the tags before reading! Thank you!

Lumiere approached the door with caution. No one had seen the master all day, and Lumiere had evidently drawn the shortest straw to go see if the irritable young prince was all right. He’d already checked the master chambers, where Adam had lived since his father’s untimely death, and was now looking in the only other place in the west wing the boy seemed to retreat: his childhood bedroom. After knocking and waiting in silence, the butler heard a bottle tip over and clang on the floor. That was reason enough to enter without further permission. When Lumiere did finally come into the chamber, he saw an unfortunate, yet predictable, sight. 

Adam was sitting on the floor leaned up against the far wall. He was holding a bottle lazily around its neck, with three or four others strewn around him. He was nineteen, and he was the sole master of a castle and staff that feared him as they did his father. He wasn’t king yet because he hadn’t found a wife. The elegant balls that had been taking place in order to find his bride had been happening since he was fifteen, and no such bride had been found. The staff had begun to wonder how seriously he took this search, but of course, they could never make such an allegation toward their master. 

Adam’s eyes slowly drew up to the man standing in his doorway, the image fuzzy at first before focusing on who he now knew to be Lumiere. The prince rolled his eyes away as Lumiere closed the door and entered further, a concerned look across his face. 

“Hello, Master,” Lumiere said in a careful tone. When the master had been drinking, he was either entirely more ferocious and furious than usual, or he was on the brink of falling into a sleep that would last until the sun rose again. Adam’s eyes were still gloomily staring at the floor, he was motionless before suddenly bringing the bottle to his lips for another swig. “Are you feeling alright?” Lumiere asked tentatively, though it was entirely evident that the prince was not. 

“It’s been ten years,” Adam croaked in a gruff voice, as though he hadn’t spoken all day. Lumiere knew what he was referring to immediately, and it suddenly became all too clear why Adam had decided to drink alone in his childhood chambers. 

“Oh, yes. It has been,” the footman replied regrettably. It had been ten years since Adam’s mother had died. Ten years ago, that very day, a young prince was facing for the first time the worst punishment the world could have bestowed upon him: being alive without his mother. 

“So I decided to drink a little.” Adam waved the bottle up to Lumiere, sloshing the remainder of its contents back and forth. Lumiere didn’t say anything. His first thought was to reply with sarcasm at the term ‘a little’, but he didn’t want to set the intoxicated prince off. “Do you remember?” Adam asked, his tone coming alive a bit. “Remember that day? I came in here, all tears, all a mess. Do you remember?” 

Lumiere did remember. The queen had died around eight-thirty in the morning, but she’d been faltering since before the dawn. One member of staff usually brought her son in to see her after his breakfast, but it was too late. They had to tell him right there in the dining room. Lumiere remembered the boy’s face. Breaking into a tragic display of confusion and despair. He tried to go see her, he yelled and wailed and kicked at Lumiere’s shins as the footman held him back. Eventually the boy broke free, but he ran for his own bedroom instead of his mother’s. 

Lumiere had stood there in the corridor, heart pounding with sadness as the boy’s door slammed shut. Mrs. Potts rushed over to him, telling him to go after the prince.  _ He’s a young boy, Lumiere, don’t leave him alone. _ Before the footman knew what was happening, Plumette was taking his hand and leading him toward the door. She’s always kept him steady. Lumiere opened the door slowly, finding the young prince sitting in the corner of his room, knees tucked to his chest, his face wet with a constant stream of tears.  _ Mon prince, _ the footman said in his most delicate voice. He looked back at Plumette, who squeezed his hand, a sorrow in her eyes. The pair of them stepped in and crouched down, sitting on the floor beside Adam, the prince’s back still toward them.  _ It is Lumiere and Plumette, mon prince.  _ He spoke softly, he could not imagine what was going through the boy’s mind.  _ We were wondering if you‒ _ before the footman could complete his weak gesture, the prince had turned and fallen into Lumiere’s chest, crying and soaking his waistcoat. Lumiere wrapped his arms around the boy as tight as he could. Plumette put her arms around them both, resting her head on her love’s shoulder. Lumiere didn’t know how long they’d been there, but it would have never been enough time. 

Now, the same prince, merely ten years older, sat there alone, with empty bottles and an almost tangible darkness surrounding him. Lumiere’s heart sank. “Yes, I remember.” 

Adam scoffed, as if laughing at his own tragedy. “Things would certainly be different if that hadn’t happened, don’t you think?” 

Lumiere gave him a  _ don’t do this to yourself _ kind of look. He wrinkled his eyebrows and looked around the room as he answered. “That is out of our control, Master.” The room was tidy, yet empty. All Adam ever really had of his own possession were books, and those had been moved to the master chambers. 

“Is anything?” Adam asked, a slight slur in his words as he lazily drank from the bottle still gripped tightly in his hand. 

“Today is,” Lumiere replied, bringing his attention back to the prince. “Today is ours to control, every day.” Adam rolled his eyes at this. He didn’t want a philosophy lesson. What he really wanted was another bottle of wine to appear in his hand as soon as he finished off this last one, which he’d just accomplished. The prince threw the bottle across the room, it hit the door but failed to shatter as he’d hoped it would. 

“D’you think this will change?” 

Lumiere was still staring at the cracked bottle, startled from the sudden burst of noise and energy in an otherwise stagnant room. “Do I think  _ what _ will change, Master?” His eyes slowly drew back to the prince, who now had his hands folded in his lap, though Lumiere could tell he was picking at his nails, as he often did when he was on edge. 

“Any of this,” Adam threw up one of his hands, as if gesturing to the world. “My life. Because, thus far, ten years have gone by and nothing’s really changed.” Lumiere folded his hands behind his back. How could he answer this? He’d been holding onto a seemingly empty hope for years that Adam would break out of his father’s mold. But, all too evidently, nothing  _ had  _ improved. In fact, the prince had fallen deeper into his father’s shadow, even as he’d been dead for four years. 

“I think,” Lumiere began, a little unsure of where he was going with it. “There must always be hope for things to change.” He finished a little flatly, gathering his thoughts. “Do you want things to change?” 

Adam shrugged, eyes looking nowhere. Suddenly his blank expression broke into the slightest smile. He looked up at Lumiere with a devious gaze in his eyes. “Do you want to hear a secret?” 

It was a dangerous question to ask a footman. He, as well as the other staff members, knew many secrets, many they found out by chance. But when the Master asks if he wants to hear a secret, Lumiere supposed there was only one answer. “Yes.”

“I’m not really trying here.” Adam’s face cracked into a grin; one of false, drunken joy. 

“Trying… to do what?” 

“To do any of it. All this being the Master and ‘finding a wife’ nonsense.” 

Lumiere unclasped his hands from behind his back. He didn’t think he’d ever hear the prince admit such a thing. “You’re not?”

“No, and why should I? This is great, not being the king. All the pomp, none of the responsibility.” Adam began trying to stand up. It was a terrible struggle, and Lumiere would have suppressed laughter at the sight, had he not been so taken aback at the drunken prince’s words. 

“This is true…,” he watched as Adam slowly rose to his feet, almost falling over before steadying himself with the wall. He then turned, pacing, stumbling, around the room. “But, eventually—”

“Eventually nothing!” Adam spun around, a little too quick, almost tripping over himself as his head began to spin. “No one’s going to take my place.  _ I’m _ the successor. Unless of course, something or… or  _ somebody  _ kills me. Hell, I could take care of that.” Lumiere’s eyes widened, gasping to himself. Adam was a pain in his ass and in everyone else’s who worked under him, but he did not at all enjoy the thought of him not being around to see his own life through. He hadn’t lost  _ all _ hope. The prince slumped onto the bed, a light cloud of dust rising from the duvet. “Death doesn’t sound all that terrible. What would I lose?” Lumiere had known for so long that Adam had grown too selfish to ever see how much the staff loved him, but still, hearing him speak like this, it made his stomach churn. 

The footman stepped delicately over to the prince, sitting down next to him. It was a gamble, but ultimately Adam was too weak to care about his personal boundaries in that moment. “All the pomp, perhaps?” Lumiere smiled a little, trying to catch the boy’s gaze, but to no avail. 

Adam shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if I did find a wife, I’d obviously have to have a child with her. To ensure the throne and all of that bullshit.” 

“What is wrong with that?” 

The prince scoffed at the question, as if it should have been obvious. “I’m not going to have a child. I don’t want him fucked up the way I’ve been.” 

Lumiere thought about the prince’s words, folding his hands in his lap. “How are you certain that you will do wrong by him?” This time, Adam looked right at Lumiere, as if he was asking the dumbest questions imaginable. 

“Have you already forgotten how my father was with me?” 

“No, I have not,” Lumiere sighed. “But I have also not forgotten how your mother was with you.” Another gamble, but the man had a point to make. “I think you have more of her in you than you let on, Master. I think, if you got the chance to become a father, that part of you would shine through.” The air was silent, Lumiere’s words hanging in the air like a chandelier from the ceiling. Adam dropped his head, looking away from him. It was clear he was pondering all that he’d heard, but he’d never let any of that be known. The prince was staring down at his own shoes, hunched over and leaning his elbows on his knees. He didn’t know if it was the words or the wine, or both, but he felt like crying. 

“Don’t speak of her,” he said in his usual low, demanding voice. Lumiere had lost the bet, but certainly wouldn’t apologize for having placed it. “Get out,” Adam muttered in a smaller voice, turning his face away from Lumiere. The footman sighed, defeated, but far from surprised. He silently came to his feet, mentioning something about dinner before scooping up the empty bottles and leaving the room. 

Adam had slid down to the floor before the door had even shut. His knees were tucked up to his chest, tears had already started falling. He slammed his fist on the floor, frustrated at his own emotions. He should be better than this, but he’s not, and he knew it. He put a hand to his face, wiping his tear-stained cheeks clean in one motion. He didn’t know what to make of Lumiere’s words, but, frankly, he didn’t care. Why would anything change? What was the point of holding out hope for nothing? If there was any modicum of a new fate, it certainly wasn’t something Adam believed in. He’d carry on with his pompous and luxurious life, just as he always did. If anything was going to change, Adam would be the last to have a say in it. 


End file.
